Christmas Morning
by Gitana
Summary: It's Christmas again, and Dean is alive.


Christmas Morning

**By:** Gitana  
**Rating/Timeline: **PG – somewhere around S4  
**Disclaimer:** None of it is mine, of course. That honor belongs to Mr. Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers.  
**Summary:** It's Christmas again, and Dean is alive.

Some motel, some room, some bed. Nobody's getting presents, nobody spent all of last night trying to sleep but not being able to.

Sam woke up first. Lately, Dean's been falling asleep so deeply not even the alarm clock will jolt him. Sam lets him sleep. He decides to go out for coffee, he's groggy and he puts his clothes on slowly, hesitantly. He looks at Dean, he thinks to bring him some breakfast like they would be getting right now if they had a mom, girlfriends or wives, anybody to bring them breakfast on a special morning.

Dean shifts in his bed.

Sam opens the door outside and it's so bright, unfamiliar after a night of darkness and resting his bruised body. His eyes adjust to the change of light as he closes the door behind him and starts walking to the closest diner. He orders two coffees. He doesn't order fancy cappuccinos anymore, an espresso will do. Anything will do. The waitress hands him the two coffees with a smile, "Merry Christmas" she says to him and he looks at her surprised. He had almost forgotten. "Merry Christmas" he replies back in his deep, understanding voice. The waitress smiles and nods as she watches him walk out again into the sunlight, tall and unaware that it's supposed to be a magical morning.

On his way to the motel room he stops when he sees a kid testing his new toy. He's hitting the remote control with his fist because his mini red Porsche won't go faster. The dad behind him jerks the controller away before it is broken, pats the kid on the head with a smile and reminds him to be patient. They look at the instructions together and the kid smiles when his dad reads aloud the various ways the car will go faster. Sam stands around trying to look like he's not staring, wishing.

When Sam reaches his motel room, he can hear Dean walking about inside.

"Hey!" Sam says, conjuring a Christmas morning smile like he's seen in Christmas movies.

"Hey!" Dean says back, wiping his eyes because he just woke up.

Sam hands Dean the coffee, "My hero," Dean mouths into the slight steam coming from his cup, sipping carefully and feeling the hot liquid blanket his idle throat into life once again.

Sam smiles faintly and wishes he had brought Dean a full breakfast.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy!"

Sam thinks back to last year when they exchanged presents and faked smiles through unshed tears and a depressing, unspoken _I love you, I'll miss you_. This year, _Merry Christmas_ didn't mean goodbye.

The wind was starting to rattle outside. It wasn't cold, but it made their room cool and nice.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Sam said from a deep place in his soul. He could almost see Dean opening gifts on a nameless Christmas morning, grinning from ear to ear. Dean would have been the happiest kid alive had he been allowed to be.

On any other day they would start raking the Internet for a case, reading the newspaper for the strange, but they both sat back for a little while to drink their coffee and take in the sounds of Christmas morning that belonged to other families, other kids.

They both finished their coffees.

Technically, this morning was like every other morning. But there was too much significance to ignore. Dean isn't dead. Sam looks at Dean putting dirty clothes and guns into a duffel bag. He wants to hug him, but he knows it would be awkward.

Sam catches sight of a tiny Nativity stamp the motel staff had placed next to a lamp. His eyes go straight for the small baby in the middle. His eyes well up. Babies are a sign of hope and innocence. Had he been a sign of hope and innocence, Dean could be watching his kids opening presents right now instead of shuffling inside a dark motel room, gathering silver bullets for a future hunt.

Dean looks happy today. Dean is always aware of holidays and Sam is always trying to forget them.

"Wanna grab breakfast?" Dean asks closing the zipper of the bag.

"Yes." Sam replies, looking his brother in the eye, letting him know.

Dean nods, he knows. "Okay, let's go!"

Sam didn't get a present for Christmas. His present arrived before that when his brother showed up at his motel room, alive. He looks again at the baby in the middle of the stamp. He prays under his breath. It could be worse… His brother could still be burning. He could be alone, waking up to an empty room. He tells the baby that he isn't sure what he believes anymore, that he has misplaced his faith. He says he's sorry, but that just in case, he wants to thank him for his brother. He wishes that if there is a heaven, that his mom and dad are in it. There's something about Christmas that turns you into a child, otherwise, it just isn't Christmas. Dean remembers the burned flesh in form of a handprint adorning his shoulders. He still doesn't fully understand it or believe, but he looks at his brother, smiles at him, and he forgets for a moment. They'll spend the rest of the morning, together, forgetting. Before the afternoon slides under the sky and they have to go back to reality, but for now, the morning will do.

The End


End file.
